Road of Memories
by cranberrysoup
Summary: Edward Elric. The sole survivor. When tragic memories haunt the poor, deformed man, what sad tale will unfold? AU, angst, incomplete. Rating may be subject to change.
1. Sacred Place

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or any of its characters. This fanfiction and its plot, however, are all mine. Please respect my rights as a creative individual.

Summary: Edward Elric. The sole survivor. When tragic memories haunt the poor, deformed boy, what sad tale will unfold? AU, angst, incomplete. Rating may be subject to change.

A/N: I had hoped that this chapter would be longer, but I was on the verge of tearing out my hair from frustration and non-postage. So please enjoy what I have posted, and I'll try to get more up soon! (I know it's short, but feedback would still be wonderful)

Now, presenting:

**Road of Memories**

Cars speed down the highway, recklessly racing over the cold, broken asphalt that is the result of generations of abuse. The musky, pervasive stench of gasoline fills the air for miles alongside this desolate road, but very few dare to pause in their journeys long enough to notice the lonely, neglected state of this place. It's almost as if people are afraid to stop here.

I wouldn't blame them.

-

"_Nii-san, where are they taking her?"_

"_Hush, Al. Show your respect for the dead," I whispered, instantly remorseful. I knew it was a terrible thing to say, and I knew that he hadn't understood much of what had happened in the past week. Inside me a child, much like the boy that now desperately clutched my hand, burst into tears and glared up at me in anger, as if I was the cause of all his woes. My face stayed blank._

"_Nii-san, what-" he began timidly, but cut himself off at my cold stare. He was afraid of me. I could see it._

_But slowly, as the old man in black robes nearby began to drone, and the small, mellow crowd surrounding us settled into a trance-like state, he reached up his soft, chubby palm and slipped it into my own. The cold iron fist that clenched my heart lightened its grip ever so slightly._

_Gently, I pulled my hand from his grasp, and with my one good arm—my right arm—I pulled him up into my lap. That seemed to pacify his insecurity for the moment. He snuggled into my chest contentedly, though I could barely feel it._

_Like everything else to me in this world, he was distant. I could touch him only with one arm; hold him only with the same. All else had been taken from me in the accident._

-

I sigh frustratedly, but the quiet noise is quickly consumed by the automobiles' roar. Shivers run down my spine. I hate being here- it never fails in erasing all happy notions from my mind. And yet, I still force myself to return as often as possible, like some sacred place that must, however grudgingly, be recognized.

Tall, overbearing stone walls stand at either side of me. Dark, slimy, and riddled with fractures; they are the sole remaining relic of this place and its shadowy past.

I look up. There, high up on the wall to my right, I can barely make out the faded red lettering: LABORATORY 5. I don't need to turn my head to the left to know what I will see emblazoned across the other wall: PRISON 2.

Indeed, this is a sacred place. This is where my life turned around. This is where everything I had was either taken, abused, or mangled to a point that was barely recognizable. This is my gravesite.

I claim it as my own not because I am, or ever will be buried here. It is my gravesite because in it rest the remains of those whose downfalls were my own responsibility.

And I have many, many responsibilities.


	2. Childhood

**Disclaimer: I do not own FMA or any of its characters. This fanfiction and its plot, however, are all mine. Please respect my rights as a creative individual.**

**Summary: Edward Elric. The sole survivor. When tragic memories haunt the poor, deformed man, what sad tale will unfold? AU, angst, incomplete. Rating may be subject to change.**

**A/N: Okay, to clarify one thing, I know that Al calls his brother "nii-san," but there should be no other randomly inserted Japanese. I only used that because Al calling him "brother" hardly seemed culturally accurate. Moving on…**

**I dislike this system of private review responses, but there's really not much I can do about that. -sigh- Oh well… Still, I would like to at least recognize and thank AnAngel'sWings and rockpaperscissor for reviewing! Thank you very much!**

**I'm sorry, but this chapter is mostly flashback (hence the mass of italics). I'm afraid it might be that way for a little while, but hopefully things will be coming together a bit in the meantime.**

**And now,presenting chapter two of Road of Memories:**

"**Childhood"**

-

I hate mirrors. To me, they're like a constant reminder of everything that I am… everything that I hate. I see myself… my shaking hands… my wrinkled face… the thinning grey fuzz that has slowly replaced my once sleek, blonde locks… and I see the old man that I never should have become.

It should have been Al who grew old and knobbly, living on only for the sake of his life's work. It should have been he who accepted his talents and lived on with them for the well-being of others. It should have been Alphonse, my dear, precious brother, who was granted this seemingly endless life that haunts me now, if only because it should have been me who was cut down so long before my time.

I often wonder if it was because he died so young that I have lived so long. It makes little sense, but I feel like I owe this prolonged life span to him, to make up for the years that he missed. He would have wanted me to continue the science for which he'd lacked any aptitude, and, knowing Al, would have justified his death with something foolish, like his existence slowing down my research.

Foolish, naïve little Al. We were only a year apart in age, but sometimes it seemed like decades. He never really understood the cold, blunt harshness of this world, and I suppose it was his trusting nature-- his constant insistence upon the good in every being-- that became his downfall. I failed to look after him, and he paid the ultimate price.

Now, as I pass shop windows and various boutiques on the way to and from the drugstore, I carefully avert my eyes. I don't want to see my decrepit old body sitting rigid in this accursed wheelchair. I don't want to notice how little my chest rises and falls in the steady cycle of breath, or the way my right arm shakes with the instability of age, while my left lies still and lifeless. I don't want to be reminded of the person that I've become as a result of my failures.

I hate mirrors because in them I see only memories.

-

"_Momma! Momma! They're here!" I cried out in boyish excitement as I raced down the long, elegant hallway to her room, Al close at my heels. I skidded to a stop at her door, my face flush with excitement. I heard Al stumble in an attempt to do the same, before a soft "thud" confirmed his fall, and he let out a stunned "oof!"_

_I was too distracted by what I saw in our mother's room to take much notice. After a moment, I heard an awed gasp from the floor, as Al followed my gaze._

_Our mother was wearing a dress. Of course, she wore dresses all the time, but none of them had been quite like this. It was long, black, and elegant, and a short train swirled gracefully around her feet as she stood self-consciously by her makeup counter. Her silky chestnut hair fell free of its usual loose ponytail; long black gloves covered her arms to her elbows, and a modest application of makeup accentuated her comely facial features. She was beautiful._

_Naturally, we had grown up knowing that our mother was the "most beautifulest lady in the world," but before this we had never really seen her in her element. She was an elegant woman. She was our father's mistress, an excellent cook, and a lady of the upper class. I guess we'd never really understood it until then._

_At first, I was a little shy of this new side of my mother. But then she said, "They're here already? Goodness, dinner won't be ready for awhile yet! What shall we do in the meantime?" She looked us over, taking in our soiled play clothes, various bumps and scratches acquired through wild chases, and Al's chubby form sprawled out on the velvety carpet. Then she smiled. "Well, I suppose the first thing we should do is get cleaned up, huh?"_

_That was the mother I knew. Comforted, I ran forward and flung my arms around her knees (the highest point that I could reach), quickly mimicked by Al. The dress was soft and sleek, and smelled lightly of her finest perfume._

_She bent over and gathered Al into one arm. She held my hand with her other, and said, "We'd better get you boys dressed, then," and marched us back down the hall to our shared bedroom._

_A few minutes later we approached the parlor, Al clinging nervously to mother's skirt as I pulled uncomfortably at the starched collar of my new suit. Father had invited one of his co-workers to dinner. Mother had lectured us many, many times today on being polite, remembering our manners, and being respectful of our guest, so I supposed he must be a very important man._

_I anticipated someone much like my father- tall, with thinning hair, thick glasses, and a deep, rich, masculine voice. I could already hear my father's familiar rumbling laugh coming from within. I cautiously followed my mother inside and peeked around her skirt just in time to hear a slightly higher, rather pubescent voice say,_

"_Dr. Kimbly can talk himself out of _anything_, don't you think? Although it seems that Gran is willing let him off with quite a bit anyways…"_

_I gaped. The speaker was no old, grey scientist with years of research and experience under his belt. Sitting comfortably in an armchair by my father's was a sturdy young man with floppy, sunbright hair and stormy grey eyes. I wondered if he could even be called a young man. He looked no older than sixteen! Was this a joke? What teenager could become a nationally renowned military scientist?_

_He finally seemed to take notice of a new presence in the room, and rose to his feet. My father stood and said, "Russell, may I present my wife, Trisha? Trish, this is Russell Trigham, who works in the lab next to mine. He's quite a prodigy in our sector."_

"_Mrs. Elric, it's quite a pleasure to finally meet you," the boy- Russell- said as he gently kissed her hand. "Dr. Elric hardly talks of anyone but his beautiful wife, unless it's to describe his two wonderful sons."_

_My father coughed embarrassedly, and my mother laughed- a soft, tinkling sound like a chorus of tiny bells._

_Russell released her hand to turn and squat beside me and Al. He said, "I take it you two are the wonderful sons I've heard so much about?" Al squeaked and attempted to hide behind me, peeking nervously over my shoulder. Russell laughed._

"_You must be Alphonse. Don't worry, I don't bite; I promise. Here, I brought something for you." He produced a small, lumpy package, and offered it to the frightened boy._

_Al looked nervously up at mother, who smiled and said, "Go ahead, Al. Dr. Trigham is very kind to bring you a present."_

"_Please, call me Russell," the young scientist insisted._

_Cautiously, Al accepted the gift and, slowly gaining confidence, gently tore open the wrapping. I heard him gasp. He then triumphantly held up an intricate, hand-crafted wooden train. A prickle of jealousy ran down my spine. It had to be the most beautiful toy I'd ever seen._

"_Don't worry, Edward, here's one for you," Russell said, still kneeling nearby. I accepted a slightly smaller package, but when I tore it open, I was sure that its size hardly mattered. In my hand was a lone wooden soldier, carved and painted in such detail that I could make out the individual tassels on his jacket that marked him as a high-ranking officer. I gasped in childish glee, and hurriedly thanked him with utmost sincerity._

_Al was quick to follow my lead. He rushed to thank Russell in a stumble of mostly incoherent sentences, while our mother beamed down at us, and amusement twinkled in our father's eyes. I grinned happily. This Russell guy wasn't so terrible. Maybe he'd tell me how he became a scientist so young…_

_Mother interrupted a thoroughly flustered Al to say, "Well, shall we move to the dining room? I'm sorry to say that dinner may be a little while yet, but perhaps a glass of wine while we wait?"_

_The rest of the evening was far more enjoyable that I'd expected. Russell proved also to be a prodigy in social skills, as he simultaneously discussed work with my father, praised and flattered my mother, and kept me and Al entertained with silly antics. After a couple of hours, my brother and I were happy and full._

_I was content to listen to the murmur of voices while my mind wandered aimlessly through pleasant, dream-like notions. I glanced lazily over at Al. He seemed to be in a similar state of semi-consciousness. One hand rested gently upon his chubby stomach as he slumped back into his chair._

_I sighed happily and did the same. For the moment, childish playfulness and excitement could be forgotten. We, too, were satisfied with just being there in the presence of warmth and good humor; soaking in pleasant aromas and carefree auras that were so uncommon in what we barely understood to be difficult times._

_I gazed dreamily at father while he spoke, fascinated by the contours of his face. I knew them well, of course, but what I saw in them now was a rarity for the little that I had known of him in my short life. Many of the grim wrinkles and creases had smoothed out, and the hints of a genuine, unsarcastic, non-ironic smile pulled at his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled in mirth instead of worry. He was an entirely new person to me- a man untroubled by a military government and rushed scientific discoveries; a man untouched by the war that had shadowed the world for two generations without any sign of relenting. At that time, I knew little of what any of it meant. All I knew was that right then, my father seemed almost… peaceful._

_Apparently, though, peace was short-lived in that time of war. Russell spoke, and, to my disappointment, the creases rapidly re-embedded themselves in my father's features._

"…_has been questioning me on your recent progress," Russell was saying. "Gran wants to know what's taking this report so long."_

_My father's face was now fully grim. "He's been questioning you?" he asked, and I thought I saw a flicker of anxiousness in his eyes. "But you belong to a different department entirely. Why would he expect you to know anything of my progress?"_

_Russell shrugged. "How should I know? He said that you and I were both working on special solo reports, and that it might be beneficial for us to check up on each other." Russell seemed to pick up a sort of youthful eagerness in his tone as he said, "He's even mentioned that we might be working together sometime soon. He said that if things progress well, our projects could be combined as a great asset to the military."_

_My father blew off Russell's enthusiasm with a weary sigh. "I should certainly hope that that would never happen, my friend," he said, looking more melancholic that I could ever remember seeing him. "We may only pray that it won't have to."_

_Russell grew indignant, but before he could say anything, my mother interrupted, "Well, it's been lovely, Dr. Trigham, but I do believe that it is long past these boys' bedtime. If you'll excuse us?"_

_Then, before a word could be spoken, she had lifted me and Al out of our chairs and swept us down the hall. "Please, call me Russell," I heard him call out lamely before the matron-like whirlwind had pulled me and my brother far away from that brief but puzzling conversation._

_That night, long after mother had tucked us in, I stayed awake thinking. None of what I had overheard really made much sense to me, but I could tell that it really bothered mother and father. How could something that would help the military really be so terrible? And why would something that made a kind person like Russell so happy also make my parents so very afraid?_

_I don't know how I knew they were afraid- it just came to me. I pondered that. What was it about war that made men dance and shout in the streets as I had seen them do, while others stayed inside and peeked fearfully through their fastened shutters? Why was it that I had often overheard my own father speak against his superiors so severely as to be called treasonous?_

_What was this sickness called war that seemed to have infected the entire world?_

_As I thought, I ran my fingers over the toy soldier that Russell had given me. In the darkness, my tiny fingers could make out the detailed contours of its chiseled face. Already, I had inspected him so thoroughly that I knew what each of the bumps and ridges represented; an eye, a cheek, a nose, a chin…_

_But here, without any light to guide me, there was still more to discover about my little figurine. In a lighted room, he had appeared to be the perfect soldier; he had a strong, stern face and cold, unfeeling eyes. Now, with only my sense of feeling, I could make out the grim creases in his forehead, and the sorrowfully slanted crows' feet cornering his eyes. He was a sad soldier, who wore a painted mask in the light._

_I held him close for comfort. "It's okay," I whispered quietly, in hopes of consoling him for a time. "It's okay. We'll win this war- you'll see. We'll win the war, and everything will be okay."_


End file.
